Posts [ 14 ]

Topic: The Collapse

(Alright foiks Bandit here and I'm starting up this thread in hopes of getting something going here. First off I'll set up the sign up sheet with all of the details and whatnot and then go on from there. Hope some of ya'll will join in. Sign up sheet is basic, by the way.)

Name:"Blackjack" John MillerAge:22Weight:180Height:6'0Armament:M-16A2, Mossberg 500, Beretta 9mm, Combat Knife, 3 M79 Fragmentation Grenades.Background: Born in the hills of western Virginia, John grew up in a fairly middle class family. At nineteen he joined the United States Marine Corps and after going through basic was shipped out to Afghanistan. He did two tours in said country before being shipped back state side. During his time there he recieved two purple hearts and the silver star for valor in the field. His ascension through the ranks was purly battlefield promotions as most of his CO's, I.E., Sergeants, Lietuenants and Captains were killed in action. His unit, the 56th Marines were soon dubbed the "Grim Reapers" not only for dishing out death but for taking it as well. Two months into his stay in the states his unit was called into action when North Korea declared war on the South and the Chinese joined in on the Norths side. Deploying with the U.S. 7th Fleet word soon reached the battlegroup after its departure from Norfolk that the 2nd and 12th fleets were knocked out by thermonuclear explosions. With rage pumping through their veins the sailors and Marines of the 7th were ready for battle after their passage through the Panama Canal and their linking up with the 9th Fleet in San Fransico Bay. During their time passing through the Gulf of Mexico and Panama Canal word soon began to filter in of turmoil on the homefront. First it was civil unrest, blamed on America's entrance into the Korean conflict. But it wasn't long before internet sites like YouTube and others began to paint a different picture of the unrest. It wasn't just rioting that was occurring, it was something far more deadlier. By the time the 7th Fleet reached San Fransico all out war was being waged on the mainland, the pillars of smoke hovering over San Fransico itself a testament to this. To make a long story short the 9th Fleet mutanied and engaged the 7th in hard combat. The battle lasted for hours, both sides taking massive losses. At the end of the day though the 7th, or what was left ot it came out the victor, the 9th completely destroyed. Now with only the heavily damaged aircraft carrer USS Enterprise along with the moderately damaged destroyers USS Saratoga and USS Valley Forge those that remain are left to face the horrors that await them on the mainland.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------San Fransico Bay1:52 P.M.USS Enterprise

Black, putrid smoke still wafted skyward from the fires that were slowly dying out on the Enterprise. The ships expertly trained fire crews had managed to save the ship, but the cost had already been paid. Thousands were dead, many of their bodies floated lifelessly in the bay that the remnants of the 7th Fleet occupied. Out of the 7th's twenty-seven ships only three remained, all of them damaged. But, the crew's of these ships were kept busy by damage control, allowing their minds to forget the horrors that were occuring on the mainland. By now they all knew, hell if you didn't know you must be living under a rock. It had been a week since it had all started and already the war was lost. The bodies of the recently deceased had begun to return to life and attack the living. Anyone bitten by one of these reanimates were, after the infection took their lives reanimated themselves only to kill and turn those around them.

The Federal government for all intents and purposes had disolved, although rumors abounded that the President and his cabinet had relocated to a safe and secure location somewhere far away from the war that was currently being waged. Regardless the war that the 7th Fleet was meant to fight in Korea was all but forgotten, the Koreans succumbing to the infection like the rest of the world.

Standing on the mangled deck of the USS Enterprise, Marine Lieutenant "Blackjack" John Miller peered towards the shore only a mile or two away. The smell of the air made his nose crinkle as the smell of salt, burning fuel and death filled his nostrils. He knew in his mind that the smell of death wasn't just coming from the area surrounding the ships, it was coming from the mainland. At this point he was still having trouble wrapping the entire situation around his mind. The dead returning to life? Not only that but they were killing everyone around them? It sounded like a storyline to some Hollywood flick, not something that happened in real life. But, from what he had been told by his superiors it was indeed happening, and sooner rather than later he and his men would have to face it head on.

At the thought of his fellow troopers he sighed, tears welling up in his eyes. The fight with the 9th Fleet had cost him most of his friends, guys he had went through basic together, guys who he had fought alongside in Afghanistan, his brothers were now gone. All that was left was a dozen men of the 56th, and he was now their commander and he had no idea what he was going to do when the time came to go onto the field. But, as he walked along the deck of the carrier he remembered that it would be atleast a day or two before a shore party was sent out to see what was going on.

Regardless he knew in his mind that what they would find on the mainland would be worse than what they had already been through. Suddenly the hand held radio clipped to his belt began to sound off. Pulling it from the clip he raised it to his ear and listened.

"To any and all military forces still active in the southern California area. This is Admiral Michael Burns of the U.S. 7th Fleet. We are currently broadcasting on all channels and are heavily damaged. We are down to three vessels still afloat but are capable of sending an expeditionary force onshore to link up with any forces still resisting on the mainland. If you are hearing this and are able to transmit we are receiving on alll channels. If you can hear this but are unable to transmit please give us a sign of your presence. This message will continue to repeat on all channels until contact is made. This is Admiral Burns signing off."

Returning the radio to his belt John smiled, realizing that the expeditionary force mentioned would be he and his dirty dozen. Turning on his heels John began to head back towards the barracks to inform his men to be prepared to move on a moments notice. He was growing tired of being on the water anyway.

(Alrightly folks thats just the beginning. I hope to see some of ya'll join in.)

Re: The Collapse

Name: Bruce GrainerAge: 26Weight: 175Height: 6'1Armament: M9 Pistol, Multi-tool.Background: Bruce was born into a lower-middle class family in Portland, Oregon. He enlisted in the United States Army at 17 with his parents approval. He spent 6 years in the regular Army as a combat medic. He was shipped off to Iraq, where many of his buddies died during the pull-out strafe. He learned first hand how to deal with wounded soldiers, and missing limbs. He was decorated when the Blackhawk he had been flying wounded out in was hit with an RPG. He managed to save all but the pilot, and keep them stabilized. That crash was relived every night in Bruce's dreams. He left the Army after his 6 years. After the US announced It's intentions to join the Korean War effort, he was quick to re-enlist in the reserves, as a Military Police man. He skipped going through Basic again, and by the time he finished Technical school, the rioting on the home-front was deemed more important. He was quickly deployed to San Fransisco, and he quickly found himself working in one of the smaller rescue stations on the outskirts of town, as the old medic he was decorated to as.

***

"We've got to get out of here. We're out of everything, and I can't raise anyone on the radio." The commanding officer said as his men were outside battling the dead back.

There we barely able to hold them back, let alone push them back. They were slowly gaining on them, and soon enough no one would be able to thin them out. There were 15-20 injured people inside of the small pre-school and Bruce was having a hard time tending to all of their needs. All of the medical supplies had been used, and what was left was no help to the wounds he had to deal with in the pre-school. No one was bitten, that was the savior, but there were burns, gunshots, cuts, amputations.

The Pre-school wasn't supposed to be the only damn rescue station on that side of the City, but it was.

'There's a Deuce outside, let's get it running. We've got Grenades, thin em' out with them and we'll get these people out of here," Bruce pleaded with the Captain. He had the feeling that the Captain wasn't thinking about the people inside; he was only thinking about the men.

"No, we're leaving now, get your shit and lets move out of here Private," The captain confirmed Bruce's suspicions."Sir, I'm not leaving these people!" Bruce protested."Then you're now promoted to Echo Squad Leader, you and your men are to hold down the station, good luck," The captain said as he wiped his sweat away, and pulled-out.

Bruce cursed him out as he tended to the people again. The rest of the men had pulled back and the undead we're now free to seige the Pre-school. He just had to bandage this wound enough to carry the old man out.

Only 10 of the people in the school could walk, the rest of them had been reduced to the streachers they rested on. One of the people who could walk, a girl about bruce's age started to walk towards the back door. Bruce yelled at her.

She was quick to do it, but incredibly nervous. She jumped as the window broke in, and the undead started to pile into the room.

"Fuck! I'm sorry! Everyone get the hell out and over to that truck! I've got the keys!" He yelled as he fired a few rounds into the window. He was going to have to leave the others behind to be eaten. Crap. He grabbed the last grenade from his chest and fired his way to the backdoor. He pulled the pin and threw the Grenade, and ran out of the Pre-school quicker then Anut-Jamima cooked pancakes.

He jumped into the deuce as they were still piling into the back of it, and put it into gear.

***

Two of the ten people who had made it out had died along the way, and Bruce felt nothing but guilt. He couldn't do anything. He was able to do something to the crew of the black-hawk, but not these civilians. He drove in silence. They were on the Harbor, and Alcatraz was showing in the distance.

He fliped on the radio. Nothing. It was dead air. He fliped through Channels until he thought he heard something.

And then Captain Miller's voice filled the cab of the Deuce.

He grabbed the horn, and quickly spoke into it, "This is Private Grainer, I have a truck of injured civilians on the San Fransisco Harbor. They desperately need Medical attention. Is there an Infirmary on board your ship?"

Re: The Collapse

Name: Raymond "Ray" Montgomery

Age: Thirty-nine years of age.

Weight: Two-hundred and fifty-eight pounds.

Height: Six foot and three inches tall.

Armament: A "slightly-used" metal Bat, a sawn-off double barreled shotgun with nine shells left, a chain (he either wraps it around his fist as a melee weapon, or uses it like a whip for a medium-ranged weapon. Roughly two feet long.)

Background: Raymond, or preferably Ray, was born into a wealthy family in the mid-west area of Ohio. He grew up as a "rich boy" (as he and his pals called them now), and had almost everything he wanted. Except parents who were there for him. When he reached the age of fourteen, Ray began to rebel against his parents, his teachers, and any other adult. He and his friends started their own Biker gang at the age eighteen. The gang was named "Crimson Wake", and the gang became widespread across many larger towns of the U.S. At age twenty-four, Ray himself was inducted into the spot of Leader (president, head honco, many of the gang called him different things). He and the original members of the gang had intended the gang to be a small and friend-based gang. However, by the time Ray reached twenty-seven years of age, several gun-fights (including three with police officials, one with a S.W.A.T. team, and another with the national guard) had occured from members of his gang. Ray himself was in every one of these fights.

On Ray's thirty-third birthday, three of his friends were killed during an Oil Truck heist. The plan was to jump from their bikes onto the truck, and unhinge the oil from the truck. However, when attempting this, one of their weapons misfired and blew the entire tanker sky-high. Ray, completely mortified by his loss of the only family he knew, Ray stepped down from his position as leader, causing turmoil and civil war in the Crimson Wake. The last six years of his life were spent on the move, guarding himself from angry Wake members, and avoiding the Police. He found himself arriving in California when reports on his radio began to buzz around almost twenty-four seven. Something about "cannibalizing rioters" or some crap that he was not interested in. However, by the time he got deeper into California, he encountered many of these fiendish rioters. Ray learned that he could trust no one. Or at least no one bleeding from the mouth and growling. He travelled through CA. until he finally reached his destination: San Fransisco.

Ray took a long and thoughtful drag on his cigar, which was pressed ever-so slightly between his chapped lips. The wind was blowing through his long, black hair, as his hog raced forward, dodging the many empty and blood strewn cars and trucks of the traffic. His sunglasses glissened in the street-lights, even though the sun was still across the horizon. It was setting, night would come, and he knew that much. He didn't know what was to come in San Fransisco, however, and he knew this too. Would their be military? If there was, there would be an evacuation. Or an extermination he thought. But he shook the idea from his head, and sped his bike up a bit. Was he running from the thoughts? Most likely.

Ray was a pretty handy man. He built many Motorcycles in his life, and knew almost every part and mechanism-term by heart. He managed to outfit his bike with a custom attire: such as, for instance, barbed-wire lining (stolen from a fence around a water-tower), a spiked, makeshift ram (he found the bull-dozing piece from an old and abandoned snow truck, and managed to weld random sharp pieces of metal to the mouth). And of course, the most important piece, a nitrous canister. He would often smile when he saw, or even thought, of this beautious creation.

Back to the events at hand... Ray had began to slow down his monstrous creation. In the distance, he saw a woman. No, two women. Running, from a horde of the rioting people. One woman had a baby in her arms. They were off the high-way, the way he was going... Ray became torn between decisions. Keep going? Save them? (he silently cursed chivalry). Ray revved the hog, and took a U-Turn. He ramped his Motorcycle across a parked truck that had a ramp for cars on the back, and he flew through the air for a few seconds. Bracing for impact, Ray reached into his holster, and pulled out the sawn-off. Nine shells he reminded himself. The bike slammed into the ground, but the shocks of the wheels took the brunt. The two women flinched at the sight of him. He must have looked some sort of graceful, with his hair in the wind, weapon in hand, and the sun setting behind him. He was not attractive, and was sort of hefty, but he looked like heaven to the two women who were fleeing. They ran again, and went around Ray to hide behind the monstrous creation. Ray flicked the ashes from his cigar, and took a step away from his bike. There was a group of about seven of the rioters (extremely small amount compared to what he saw in other places). He loaded one shell into his shot-gun, and aimed. Once the rioters reached at about thirty feet, he pulled the left trigger. The gun flung itself and his arm up with recoil, and three of the rioters were torn down to the floor in puffs of red blood. The remainging four continued to run, and Ray cursed again. He unwrapped his chain-weapon as he holstered the shotgun with his other hand. Then, with a certain grace, the weapon began to rapidly spin in his right hand, and looked almost like a fan. When the first of the four reached him, he moved his hand, and the chain ripped into the rioters skull and sent him flinging back. The second and third reached him at the same time, and he swung the thick chain, smashing the second in the chest and snapping his ribs, while hitting the other around the neck. The chain wrapped around half way, and snapped the neck completely. The last managed to tumble with Ray to the floor. Ray was positioned underneath the rioter as she was biting wildly at his face, barely inches away from contact. So Ray did what he would have done with his brother as a kid. He headbutted the damned rioter.

The rioter flung its head backward and made a strange gargling sound. Ray used this as a time to get the upper hand, and wrestled her to the floor. He wielded the baseball bat from his belt loop on the right side, "Bitch, this just ain't yer' day." With that, he pounded her face in with the handle.

"Excuse me, ma'am's, either of you bit?" Ray asked, surprisingly a little timidly for a man his size.

"Umm... I... no, I'm not bit, but Suzie here got bit when we had to leave our car." The first woman was right. The woman named Suzie has a large gash on her left arm. What a shame, she was a very pretty lady, petite figure. But Ray had seen what happend to the people who get bit. In the words of Ray, it was Some freaky-deaky mumbo-voodoo shit. He had to leave Suzie, he knew that. But did they?

"Ma'am, I have to say, your friend Suzie is doomed. If we take her, she'll be turnin' us into freakin' cannibal-chow. We gotta' leave her, I'm sorry." The woman looked at him as if he was completey insane.

"No! I can't leave Suzie! I can't!" Ray sighed.

"Ma'am, it's the only way to live..."

Suzie's eyes glittered with a tear. "Laurey.. he's right... I seen... I seen what happens to people who get bitten..." Suzie stared into Laurey's eyes and rocked the baby that was not moving...

The woman, apparentally named Laurey, was now bursting into heavy tears. "No! Suzie, don't stay! Come with us! Please! I can't leave without you here-" Laurey jolted up, and fell backwards into Ray's arms. He had rendered her unconcious.

Suzie wiped a tear from her eye, but forced up a little smile. "Listen... get her to safety. Save her, it's too late for me. I will stay here with my child... she's... already dead, I... tried to save her."

"You musta been the calm one," Ray said softly, "here, take some of my bread, eat some and try to live as long as possible. I promise to take care of your friend. Biker's word." He forced up a smile himself. He got upon his monstrous creation, and set Laurey in the passenger seat behind him. Ray was never an emotional man, but he decided this moment needed some sort of action. So he turned to Suzie, and gave her a thumbs up as his bike roared to life. Suzie smiled, and returned the thumbs up. She already looks pale he thought. But smiled anyways. And he roared forward, towards the large sign stating "San Fransisco - Two Miles". He didn't think about it until just now, but he then realized Damn, that was just seven of those freaks... what is it like in San Fransisco?...

(OOC: I hope this is good, I am new to this site. Hoping this checks clear ^^')

Re: The Collapse

(Glad to have you onboard Collector. Your post was just fine. It was really good actually, I'm impressed.)

San Fransico Bay2:34 P.M.USS Enterprise

Admiral Michael Burns stared warily towards the mainland from the bridge of the Enterprise in deep thought. He hadn't slept in nearly two days, the battle with the 9th Fleet encompassing most of that time. Not only that but even with the end of that fight he wasn't able to sleep, the images of the dead and dying on both sides invading his thoughts at every possible opportunity. At this point he honestly didn't know what he or the soldiers and sailors under his command were going to do. But he made sure that no one but himself knew that, morale was key at this point. If he allowed the men to know of his doubts then he had no doubt that they would desert. So he had to press on, assuring his subordinates that they would soon get back in contact with command and recieve new orders.

He had his doubts about this. The last communication he had recievied from his superiors had been two days earlier and it had been simple. The 7th Fleet was to remain in San Fransico Bay until they recieved strike orders from the mainland. This mind you was before the 9th decided to throw in the towel and mutiny against their commanders. That had been the last orders he had recieved and he was beginning to believe that all of his superiors were dead and that they were on their own.

At this thought he sighed and yawned. What were they going to do? Almost immediately following that thought the radio operator of the ship entered the bridge and walked up to the Admiral. Snapping a salute the operator handed Michael a slip of paper. Returning the salute the Admiral took the paper and read it over. It was a radio communication from the mainland from a Private. Apparently he had a truck load of injured people on the harbor and was requesting assistance.

Whatever drowsiness Michael had been feeling before evaporated. He double checked the paper and looked to the radio operator.

"Get back to your post and inform this Private Granier that we are prepared to take any casulities that he has and to see if he can hold his position."

The radioman nodded, saluted and left. Turning back towards the mainland the Admiral said,"Sound general quarters and get me Lieutenant Miller."

The pounding of the Blackhawks rotors was like music to his ears as John stared out over the ocean below. Fifteen minutes earlier, while in the barracks informing his remaining dozen soldiers to be ready to move on a moments notice general quarters was sounded and he was called to the bridge. It didn't take long to get his troopers assembled and briefed after that. The briefing had been short and simple. There was a Private on the mainland, which branch of the military he was with unknown with a truck load of injured civilians and they were in the thick of the shit. The Marines mission was to move in by air, set up a perimeter near the shore and determine if the soldier and civilians with him were able to be rescued. If any of them were infected they were to be exectued immediately with a bullet to the head. If the area was to hot they were to withdrawl, with or without the soldier and civilians. This mission would be the first time that the Marines would encounter the living dead, how they would react is anyones guess.

Regardless John was excited to be getting off the ship and back on land. He was also excited to see just what the hell had managed to bring down the entire U.S. government and military. With two Blackhawks and two Cobra attack helicopters the survivors on the mainland had a fairly good chance of getting out of the pit alive.

(This post is none the best but I've had a couple of drinks today, lol.)

Re: The Collapse

(I guess we are starting a whole new story line. Cool with me. I got some fresh ideas.)

Name: Joz Carington Age: 32Weight:184Height: 6'1Armament: Heavy steel pole pulled from his bed post. Background: As a youth Joz was frequently put through vigorous training exercises and forced into hunting and "Soaking God's green earth with a little red.". Joz also experienced extreme moments of child neglect and abuse. His father the being the tough as nails general he was tossed his son into the military fresh out of high school at the age of 18. Joz's ambitions to become a singer were utterly crushed under his fathers thumb. For ten years Joz was the model marine, till one night, under heavy fire, Joz's psych snapped.

Gunnery Sergeant Joz Carington was found in a small cave using human skin as his wallpaper and bedspread after murdering his entire squad during a mission in South America along with a small village. Found criminally insane (instead of being put to death, by influence of an high ranking general as a father) Joz is receiving psychiatric treatment until the courts can appeal the verdict and trial him again for the death penalty. So far there has been no break through in his case.

Re: The Collapse

Name: King "Azathoth" WongAge: 73Weight: 3100 lbsHeight: 27 ftArmament: 2 16" fangs, 6 foot club, attack fleas, acidic poo-flinging to a range of 100 feet, can control all non-human primates with hearing rangeBackground: Once was king of an island. Jerkwad scientists & military captured him and are holding him in a secret location. Denied bananas and Raisin Bran (TM) cereal if he does not cooperate. Mighty pissed off.

Re: The Collapse

San Fransisco Downtown2:28 P.M.Van Ness Avenue.

"Oh shit, I'm so hungry..." Although his motorcycle was roaring loudly down the dead-traffic of the roads, he nevertheless was able to hear his own stomach lurch and rumble with emptiness. Ray wiped a sweat that was forming on his brow, and looked over his left shoulder as he slowed down to stop to look for perhaps a way to get himself some food. He could see Laurey, still unconcious. She looked like a very pretty woman who was troubled in life, even while she dreamt. "I hope you got some good dreams, ma'am. When you wake up, it'll be a nigh'mare again..." Ray let out a long sigh as his bike took a complete stop. This avenue ain't got shit to eat he found himself thinking, when his eyes became affixiated to possibly the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. A restraunt, labled "Ruth's Chris Steak House". Just the complete and utter thought of the word steak had already began to give way at his salivating glands. He found himself already off the bike and unloading the unconcious woman onto his shoulder within' seconds, and he started his brisk walk into the building. Now, if you hadn't noticed, Ray had made some mistakes. Number 1; Ray left his bike in the middle of the road. And 2; he forgot to check the building before entering. Most people would have done these two events differentally, but when Ray sees steak, nothing else is easily comprehended by his one-track mind.

"This is fuckin' more like it!" Ray found himself exclaiming loudly, as he entered the broken glass door of the front of the restraunt. He laughed almost maniacally as he walked through the large clusters of flipped tables and bloody chairs. "Steak tonight! God is fuckin' smiling on me today!" The hungry biker had almost stepped into the kitchen, when he heard the gurgling noise. Ray's body flung around to the left to face the noise, and in the extremely dim lighting, he could see one of the infected rioters. A very obese rioter, for that matter. The creatures jaw seemed to be snapped, but it continuously crackled around, and it seemed to Ray that it was trying to close the jaw, which reminded Ray of a cracked vase, barely holding onto it's shape. The fat man tilted his head, and gurgled again, several seconds before he charged forward. "Holy shit!" Ray was speechless and baffled at the speed of this one. Ray's right arm was full, and he could not unsheath any weapon. Looking to his left, then his right, he took Laurey from his shoulder and threw her upwards into the air several moments before the obese man reached him. Ray unhinged the metal baseball bat from his belt-loop, and swung as hard as he could. It did damage, but it was not a head shot, and it only smashed the man's left arm into little pieces. The fat man tumbled backwards and tripped over a chair, just as Laurey came back down to land in Ray's arms once more. Ray laid the limp and unconcious figure onto a table, and looked towards the fat man. This creature was already on it's feet and in another charging run when Ray lifted his bat into a defensive position, and using his position, he forced the base-ball bat horizontally into the fat man's mouth, smashing his teeth and flinging the hard pieces into the fat man's throat.

Again, the fat rioter recoiled, except this time Ray kicked the man straight in the stomach causing the fat man to fall over a chair and snap his ankle. Ray was about to turn around, when the fat man got back up, and started to limp with it's broken ankle. "Seriously dude?Just stay dead," the sound of the base-ball bat smashing the fat man's brains all across the tables echoed through the restraunt, "you guys just never fuckin' give up..." After wiping off a spurt of blood from smashing in the man's head, Ray walked back to Laurey and picked her up onto his shoulder, With that fat man gone, Ray could now make he and the woman a nice dinner. Steak. And in the last minute of his possibility of food, he stopped in his tracks... A nearby Hummer was giving off a radio feed, and Ray heard it nearby. He ran outside and ran quickly to hear it. After listening to the loop a few times, he realized he was smiling brightly. "Finally them goddamned army men get here," Ray said to himself. Ray no longer felt hungry, and ran back to his motorcycle. On this bike, he and Laurey would go to find the military, and would (hopefully) lead them to a large and safe bunker at the bay of San Francisco.

(Sorry for the short replay, I literally haven't slept in two days and I need to go to work >.> And thanks BanditOne for the welcoming )

Re: The Collapse

(Okay baby!!! Here we go!!!)

Joz moved quickly as his eyes shifted about, throughly scanning the kitchen. The enemy had taken hold of the institution in brutal fashion. Every second there was a scream, or a wail. No doubt the enemy planned to use the secure walls as one of their bases. Joz was not going to let that happen.

Taking a breath, Joz focused, lifting the oxygen tank as he dropped his pipe. Opening the large oven, Joz slammed the Oxygen tank inside and closed the door. With haste, Joz turned on the oven.

Grasping up his weapon, Joz moved to the cafeteria doors. Peering out past his barricade he saw the enemy massing in the hall. They pushed against his barricade, screaming to sink their teeth into him.

"E.T.D, three minutes and thirty-five seconds." Joz spoke to himself as he jumped up, grasping the hold of the vent after sliding his weapon into his pants, pulling himself into the ventilation system.

Moving through the vent, Joz peered down through the vents, glancing at the carnage as he passed. Clearance had,had his hands full earlier fighting off Nurse Amersen and Dobbs,...well he didnt have hands now. Joz tilted his head watching as Clearance stumble along side Dobbs as fighting as they shuffled shoulder to shoulder, trying to exit the small locker room at the same time.

"E.T.D, two minutes and twenty seconds." Joz whispered as he made his way to Dr. Polenskie's office. Sliding out of the vent head first, Joz twisted his body as he descended, gracefully landing onto his feet. The psychiatrist jumped out of surprise, cowering behind his desk as Joz landed.

"How does it look outside, Sergeant?" The doctor asks, adjusting his glasses as he stood slowly adjusting his tie as he regained his composure.

"The enemy has overtaken the compound. Exits are blocked, hostile personal are massing and the alien infection is spreading. Just like I told you it would."

The doctor didnt like that last statement, and frowned upon hearing it. Yes, Joz has been going on about this... disease for years. Doctor Polenskie had been denied access to certain files and on seen statements given by those who brought Joz in and that related to Joz's case. Someone high up had been pulling the strings all along.

Polenskie's thought process was shattered at the sound of a large explosion. The boom sent shock waves throughout the wing. Wide eyed and adjusting his glasses, the doctor eyed Joz, who stood un-fazed his bloody bedpost bar upon his shoulders.

Re: The Collapse

"I need three people to help me. I know a lot of you are hurt, and I don't know a lot of your names, but if we're going to get out of this alive, I'm going to need as much help as I can get. Some of you aren't hurt, right? I need to know who is hurt least," Grainer asked the crowd of resuce station refugees.

He heard a bunch of people say what their aliments are. A lot of people had broken limbs or cuts, and needed to stay put. But a few people weren't injured. The girl from earlier volunteered to help, along with two other men. The other person that wasn't injured stayed behind, and Bruce told him to help anyone that needed help.

He had drove the truck into a parking lot in the bay area. It was fenced in, except for where he drove through the gates, and there were a number of cars scattered in the parking lot. They were coming in helicopters, how many, Bruce had no idea, but he knew that Helicopters needed a place to land. The parking lot was fine, except for the cars blocking the way, and the approaching dead.

They had to move the cars, and block the gate. Bruce smashed the window of a car open with the but of his pistol.

"Anyone know how to hot wire a car?"

No one did.

"Well, fuck."

It was impossible to get the car into neutral without the keys, and the keys were no where to be found.

"Time for Plan B."

He didn't want have to unload everyone from the truck, but it was going to be to bumpy otherwise. They were in the center of the parking lot, sitting or laying on the hard pavement. He put the truck into gear, and slowly knocked into each car and pushed them away. He pushed a few of the ones closest to the gate infront of , but there was no guarantee it would hold any zombies back. And they were approaching.

He parked the truck near the injured people, and tended to wounds for a minute. There wasn't much he could do, and he made them get back into the truck. The girl and the other two guys searched through the cars for weapons, and the only weapons that came were tire-irons. Three tire irons and a crappy M9 pistol, just great, he thought.

They stood behind the cars blocking the gate, and Bruce readied his gun. The others were ready with their three tire irons.

"Don't fire or beat the shit out of them until you can see the white of their eyes, I guess?" He said, referencing a phrase that no one had credit for.

The girl looked sick, and spoke.

"I think I'm going to throw up, I don't feel good."

"is it the smell?" Bruce asked. The air was thick with the smell of dead-fucks.

It wasn't. She knew what is was, but she didn't want to say what it was.

Re: The Collapse

San Francisco International Airport3:00 P.M.

The San Francisco International airport, once a transportation hub that proccessed thousands of people a day flying to and from all corners of the world was now silent. Its terminals littered with luggage of all shapes and sizes along with the bodies of the recently reanimated. Several 747 jet liners were parked at the main terminal, their engines long since having fallen silent. About half way down the runway the remnants of one of these jets lay strewn about in all directions, smoke still wafting skyward from its burning jet fuel. By the looks of it the plane had been coming in for a landing when something had gone wrong. More than likely it took a nose dive straight into the ground and exploded.

Observing the scene from one of the two Blackhawks hovering over the main terminal Lieutenant Miller wondered if any of the people on the crashed plane had gotten back up and wandered off after the crash. He doubted it but regardless there were still plenty more shuffling around below. At last count there were over a hundred of the "Zombies" or "Living Dead" that were supposedly getting up and killing people. Even now, hovering over the airport of a city that was still burning the Lieutenant couldn't believe it. Either way he and his men were going to find out first hand soon enough.

Half way through their flight to the mainland the Marines recieved a revised set of orders. Instead of landing near the shore and setting up a perimeter they were to divert to the airport where the Cobra's would clear the area, the Blackhawks would sit down and then a perimeter would be established. The reasoning behind this was that Private Grainer hadn't given the fleet an exact location so for all intents and purposes no one knew exactly where he and the civilians were. So, they would sit down at the airport and call him over the radio and either get him to come to them or have him give a sign of where he was so they could move in for a pickup.

As moments ticked by the Blackhawks moved out from over the main terminal to clear the way for the Cobra's. They soon arrived on the scene and the fireworks show began. Starting off with a volley of dumb rockets the attack helicopters soon rolled in low over the terminal and runway, only twenty or thirty feet from the deck and opened up with their twenty millimeter cannons. Even before the dust, dirt and asphalt could settle from the missile attack the earth once again began to go skyward as the heavy cannon rounds tore into the ground. As the Marines oboard the transports watched they noticed that several of the reanminates that were hit simply evaporated. It was a macbre showing of force to say the least.

About five minutes in the Cobra's broke off and took up a patroling pattern over the airport and the Blackhawks sat down. By this time there wasn't anything still standing on the airfield, but there were still several that could crawl and as the landing gear of the helicopters touched down they began to slowly make their way towards them.

Only one of the Blackhawks was loaded with Marines, the other being for the transport of the survivors they were sent to extract. As the side door of the first transport opened Lieutenant Miller lead his soldiers out onto the field. Bringing his rifle up to his shoulder John pulled back on the charging handle and sighted down the barrel. At the same time he made several motions with his left hand, ordering his men to fan out in a cresent shape. Within moments the Marines were in position forming a semi-circle around the two helicopters.

Trying to keep his breathing steady John observed the area. There were bodies everywhere, most of them missing limbs. The smell was what got to him. The air reeked of rot and burning jet fuel, a mixture that almost made him throw up but luckily he managed to keep his composure.

After a few moments of observation he lowered his rifle and signaled for the squads radio man to move forward. Kneeling down next to the Lieutenant the radioman, Corporal Mason handed the reciever to him. Pressing in on the button John took a deep breath and began,"This is Lieutenant John Miller of the 56th Marines. If you can hear this Private Grainer listen very carefully. We have touched down at the airport and have set up a temporary perimeter. If you can get to us do so as quickly as possible because we do not know how long we can hold out here. If you can't reach us give us a sign of your location and we will move in for extraction. Please respond." Deliberately speaking slowly John hoped that Grainer had heard him and understood what he had said. With the moans of the living dead beginning to fill the air from the surrounding area the Lieutenant was beginning to become somewhat nervous. He just hoped that Grainer responded sooner rather than later.

Re: The Collapse

"They're at the airport!" one of the passengers yelled to them from the truck.

Grainer wanted to hit himself. He had forgotten entirely about telling them his location. In all of the adrenaline, he'd fled from the zombies and forgotten to tell the fleet. They weren't far from the airport thankfully. They were in South San Fransicio, just north of the airport. Grainer ran his ass back to the deuce, and spoke into the radio.

"I'm sorry, I lost myself trying to get around the roads. I don't think we can make it over to the Airport, but we're just north of it. Those...people are closing in pretty fast, and I'm worried about losing a few of the people in the back if I don't get them what they need. I have no bite wounds. Head north from the airport, and you should see a fenced in parking lot with a green duece in it, and a few people standing around. I've got to get back over to the blockade, please, hurry."

Bruce ran himself over to the blockade. He fired a round at the first zombie that had reached the blockade of cars. They weren't going to be able to hold back more of the zombies with a pistol and tire irons for very long.